Her Doll on My Bed

I look at the doll, the doll on my bed. She has bright, shining hair, hair that’s strawberry red.

I gaze into her glassy, baby blue eyes, baby blue eyes that stare back at me. Her warm, little smile reminded me of my mother, my mother’s smile that filled me with glee.

“Why so sad, poor little girl?”

“I am a poor little girl and that’s why I’m sad.” She looked at me confused.

My mother and her doll were all that I had.

I shed a tear, looking at that doll’s face, that doll’s face that told me I missed her.

Her hug felt so real and comforting, comforting when I heard “I love you” in a whisper.

Streets of Savannah

Bewitched by Spanish moss swaying delicately in the breeze a mist starts to form over the streets

Enchanted by Forsyth Park Fountain water sparkles underneath eerie glow of antique lamp posts

Surrounded by lush greenery a faint smell of the sea washes over me

Droplets descend from the overcast above

Georgia’s liveliest souls dance in the streets

Will this beauty be masked by the ghosts of the past?